Losing Sleep
by GeniaTheParadox
Summary: John Watson wasn't losing sleep because of something bad. He was losing sleep because, in taking Sherlock Holmes' virginity, John had created a monster.


I think I'm starting to get the hang of this new OTP of mine, although I am still in the 'essentially plotless smut' stage. Once I save up the money to get series two on DVD and catch up with the rest of the universe I'll be able to write Johnlock fics with a bit more depth. Perhaps even some angst. For those of you who are unfamiliar with my other fanfics, I'm rather good at angst. Even if I do say so myself. But, in the meantime, here's some cheerful, fluffy, smutty, established-relationship Johnlock for your amusement.

Reviews would be just dandy. They are very much equal to love.

And I do not and never will own Sherlock Holmes or Dr. John Watson. I'm just borrowing them. And making them have sex with each other.

* * *

**Losing Sleep **

John Watson was used to losing sleep. It was once the fear of nightmares that kept him awake – the terrible knowledge that the moment he closed his eyes it would all come back to him; all those young soldiers that he just couldn't save, bloodied and wounded and dying on the sand among the bombs and gunfire. Ever since he'd moved in with Sherlock Holmes he was so busy running through London after the consulting detective in the early hours, helping to solve all sorts of unusual cases, that it was a miracle if he got more than a couple of hours of sleep a night before he had to get up for work at the surgery in the morning. But, as of three and a half months ago, something entirely different was keeping John Watson up all night.

After years of 'married to my work' indifference from Sherlock and what felt like a lifetime of John trying to defend his heterosexuality to the world, the flatmates had finally given in to the undeniable sexual tension that had sparked between them from the moment they had clapped eyes on each other. To everyone they knew the change wasn't drastically different, since in public they behaved pretty much the same as they always had. Lestrade noticed that Sherlock seemed just a little bit more human than before. Mycroft was pleased, even though he thought John was a much better man than his brother deserved. Donovan had been assuming that they were shagging for ages, but still couldn't believe that the freak had somehow managed to get himself a boyfriend. Molly found it all rather sweet, albeit in a strange sort of way. Mrs. Hudson thought it was only a matter of time, and was glad Sherlock finally had someone special in his life. And Anderson really didn't care. But privately John was feeling the strain.

Not in a bad way, of course. He loved Sherlock more than anything. God knows why, but he did. And, by some miracle, Sherlock was actually very much in love with him too. And Sherlock was ever so slightly easier to live with now that they were a couple. He could still be downright infuriating sometimes, but there was a lot less boredom-induced wall shooting, and he got at least two day's notice before Sherlock stored any alarming body parts in the fridge to avoid surprises. Sherlock had even started eating whenever John told him to without argument. No, John wasn't losing sleep because of something bad. He was losing sleep because, in taking Sherlock Holmes' virginity, John had created a monster.

If he was a younger man, without an injured shoulder that still ached a bit and a nine-to-five job to worry about, John would have been over the moon to have a handsome, brilliant, insatiable boyfriend like Sherlock on his arm. Not that he wasn't over the moon – he was thankful to every deity he could think of that someone like Sherlock was actually in love with _him_ – it was just that sometimes he didn't have the stamina.

It hadn't taken long for Sherlock to go from classing sex along with 'regularly eating' on the list of things he just didn't need, to being a complete and utter sex addict. Actually no, it wasn't just sex he was addicted to. It was sex _with John_. Sherlock still found the idea of having sex with anybody else tedious and unnecessary, but when it came to John he just couldn't get enough. He appeared to consider any minute of the day when he wasn't either solving a case or shagging John as a minute wasted, and the army doctor was simultaneously happier than ever and exhausted beyond belief.

The sex was good. Better than good. The sex was out of this bloody world, absolutely mind-blowing and never anything less than phenomenal. Sherlock had mapped out every inch John's body, learning exactly what to do to cause the desired reaction until he didn't even have to try anymore. He carried out experiments with researched sex tips and sexual aids in much the same compulsive way that he carried out experiments on the severed body parts he got from St. Bart's, cataloguing the results for future reference in spreadsheets and notebooks that John had decided it was best not to look at.

That wasn't to say that Sherlock wasn't affectionate. He was, astonishingly so. John was caught off guard by just how much Sherlock enjoyed intimacy, be it a quick hug or a chaste kiss or long, lazy cuddles in bed. Sherlock said just how much he loved John at least twice a day, usually during a cuddle and sounding uncharacteristically sincere and sweet as he did. John couldn't believe that Sherlock – a man who he had been sure wasn't even capable of such emotions – loved him to the ends of the Earth and couldn't bear to live without him. These declarations never failed to make John's heart flutter, and nor did any of their gentler moments of love-making.

John had never had so much sex in his life, not even when he was a teenager and he'd gotten his first girlfriend and they couldn't keep their hands off each other. He'd have been flattered that Sherlock wanted him so much if only he wasn't so desperate for just one uninterrupted night's sleep. Sherlock's desire was always at its peak when they'd just finished successfully solving a particularly dangerous case, one that involved a lot of running and shooting and complicated deductions and trying not to die. With the adrenaline still coursing through his veins, sleep was the last thing the detective wanted.

"Sherlock, seriously," said John, slumping down on the sofa. "It's three in the morning. It feels like I've been awake since this case began. As much as I'd like to celebrate our success, I really need to sleep."

"Ugh, sleep, sleeping's boring," Sherlock scoffed, throwing off his coat and scarf. "You don't have work tomorrow, you can sleep then. Stop being so dull, John!"

"I'm not being dull," John grumbled. "I'm being _tired_."

Sherlock sat down next to John and wrapped his long arms around him, nuzzling into his neck.

"You can't expect me not to want you after tonight," he said in his lowest voice, making John shiver. "You were so brave tonight, John. The way you took down that henchman who was twice your size with ease. And when that drug dealer had me in a chokehold and you shot him right through the shoulder from twelve feet away. Such bravery." Sherlock started to kiss his tired lover's neck. "You're my hero, John." He sucked on John's earlobe. "I love you so much, so much it hurts. You're the very personification of perfection, John. I love you."

John may have been exhausted, but the genuine admiration in Sherlock's voice was difficult to refuse. This impossibly brilliant consulting detective thought that _he, _the outwardly unremarkable Dr. John H. Watson, was actually _perfect_. John still couldn't quite believe his luck.

Sherlock left a trail of light kisses up John's jaw, finally catching his lips in a slow, sensual kiss that the tired doctor just couldn't help but reciprocate. Sherlock pushed John's jacket off his shoulders and chucked it on the floor somewhere, never breaking their passionate kiss. Their clothes were thrown carelessly across the room as their kissing and touching quickly escalated from slow and sweet to feverish and desperate. John's exhaustion was forgotten as he tangled his fingers in Sherlock's dark mess of curls, lying back against the seat cushions as Sherlock kissed his way down his lover's bare chest. He stopped at the small pink nipples, taking one in his mouth and gently sucking until it was hard, then doing the same with the other as John steadily fell apart underneath him.

John was achingly hard by the time Sherlock pulled off his jeans and underwear off. Sherlock sat back for a second and just looked at John, his lust-blown eyes picking up every little detail. John couldn't quite suppress a blush under such intense scrutiny. His stomach wasn't quite as toned as it used to be, the scar on his shoulder was unsightly, but Sherlock just smiled adoringly and whispered "You are the most beautiful thing I have ever seen, John."

John couldn't think of anything to say, so he sat up and cupped Sherlock's face in his hands, kissing him gently and pulling him down onto the sofa on top of him. His hands caressed Sherlock's pale skin, tracing the taunt muscles of his slender back – John was pleased to find that Sherlock didn't feel quite as bony as he once had – and unzipped his trousers, helping to push them off with his boxers until Sherlock was equally naked. John found Sherlock's body, hell, Sherlock's _everything _unearthly gorgeous; so long, sharp, angular and defined, the pale white skin more creamy than cold and void of any imperfections. He was the most unusual, otherworldly kind of beautiful.

Sherlock kissed down John's torso again until he finally got to his lover's hard, thick cock, leaking pre-come all over his stomach. Sherlock took John's length in his hand and dragged his tongue up the underside, expertly flicking his tongue over the crown and making John shudder with pleasure. He sucked on the crown, lapping up the hot beads of pre-come, before he relaxed his throat and sank all the way down until his nose brushed against John's pubic hair. He let out a deep, satisfied hum, enjoying the feeling of John's heavy, pulsing cock filling his mouth.

"Oh God... ohh, _Sherlock_," John moaned, looking down to find those startling blueish-greenish-greyish eyes still staring lustfully at him.

Sherlock began to bob his head up and down, swirling his tongue and swallowing around John's cock, one hand twisting around the base and the other fondling John's balls as he put his apparent lack of a gag reflex to good use. John's toes curled and pleasure coursed through his body. He buried his fingers in Sherlock's hair as he breathlessly watched his lover's incredible mouth around his cock, unable to stop himself from thrusting up into that wonderful wet heat. He would never get over just how good Sherlock was at this.

John couldn't quite hide his disappointment when Sherlock pulled off of his cock with an obscene little _pop_, but his whine quickly turned into a moan as a pale, spidery hand continued to stroke him with ease, while Sherlock rooted around under the seat cushions until he found the small bottle of lube he'd stored there for the moments when they didn't quite make it to the bedroom.

John spread his legs, which was rather awkward on the sofa, and watched with anticipation as Sherlock poured some lube onto his fingers and rubbed them together to warm them up. Sherlock smeared some lube onto John's hole teasingly, before pushing his finger all the way inside. John hissed at the intrusion, but encouraged Sherlock not to stop. Sherlock twisted his finger inside his lover, thrusting it in and out until the muscles relaxed enough for a second finger to be added. John rutted his hips down, fucking himself on Sherlock's long, slim fingers as they scissored and twisted inside him. Sherlock added a third finger and curled them until they brushed hard against John's prostate, making him cry out loudly and arch his back against the sofa.

"Ready for me?" Sherlock asked, his baritone growl only turning his lover on more.

"Yes, yes, _yes_," John gasped. "Please... fuck me, Sherlock."

John clenched uncomfortably around nothing when the fingers were removed, and sat up slightly to watch Sherlock slick his long, thick erection up with generous amounts of lube. Sherlock lined himself up with John's opening, kissing him hard as he pushed himself inside in one swift movement, making them both groan into each other's mouths.

After a second of getting used to it, they started to move, slow at first but steadily faster. Sherlock messily kissed and sucked on John's neck, hooking his hands around his lover's legs so he could thrust hard and deep. John clawed at Sherlock's back with one hand, the other behind his head, clinging onto the arm rest of the sofa. He rolled his hips upwards to meet Sherlock's quick thrusts, moaning his lover's name over and over again like a mantra. One perfectly angled thrust and John had to bite his lip to stop from screaming, Sherlock's cock hitting his prostate again and again with precision until John was sure he wouldn't last much longer.

"Oh, Sh-Sherlock... Sherlock... Sherlock, don't stop... ohhh, I'm so close... don't fucking stop!"

"I wouldn't – ahhh – wouldn't dream of it, John... oh God, you feel so good... come for me, John..."

Sherlock wrapped his hand around John's dripping cock, stroking fast as he slammed harder into John, willing his lover to fall apart. The air was full of the sounds of skin slapping against skin, the two men's desperate moans and the sofa creaking underneath them. Finally John just couldn't hold on anymore. With a cry of something that sounded like Sherlock's name, John's orgasm crashed over him like a tidal wave, hot ropes of his come spilling all over Sherlock's hand and his chest. Sherlock was just seconds behind, burying his face in John's neck to muffle his scream as he filled John with his release until they were both completely spent.

John could hardly move, breath or think. He winced when Sherlock pulled out of him, but couldn't even attempt to get up from where he lay sprawled on the sofa. He was only vaguely aware of Sherlock cleaning up the mess on his stomach with some tissues and standing up. The next time John opened his eyes Sherlock was padding towards him with the duvet from his bed wrapped around him. The detective carefully lay down next to his doctor, half on top of him, and covered them both with the duvet.

"Finally going to let me sleep, are you?" John asked drowsily.

"I think you've earned it," Sherlock smiled.

"You should sleep too," John slurred, wrapping his arms around his lover. "You haven't in ages."

"I'll be fine," Sherlock shrugged, sitting up on his elbow and gazing adoringly down at John. "I love you."

"Love you too, Sherlock," John murmured, unable to keep his eyes open.

Sherlock kissed him softly on the corner of the mouth. "Sleep, John."

John didn't need telling twice. It felt good to finally sleep, and even better to have Sherlock in his arms as he did.

* * *

Hope you enjoyed, Humble Readers.  
Not to sound desperate or needy or whatever, but please review. It justifies the madness.

xxx


End file.
